Detective Boy
by muertalas
Summary: He was known around the city as Detective Boy and no one could really understand why. AU.


AU. Death Note.  
L is sixteen, Near is four, Mello and Matt are seven.  
I'm trying to set this in 1996 England so forgive me for any mistakes; I'm trying.

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******Chapter 1: Decompression Period**

It always seemed to rain around the hills, he noticed absentmindedly, taking in the tiny water droplets that gathered around the small holes in the window screens with the utmost of care. The drawl of the teacher at the head of the classroom melted with the downpour, his fake French accent slowly becoming a background tune to the band of raindrops while the sound of the ringing of the bell tower near his orphanage merely added to the pureness of the song. He brought a hand to his mouth, gnawing on his index finger's nail as his mind whirred in a blur of rather incomprehensible thoughts.

"Monsieur L Lawliet! Attention de salaire!" The tired voice of his teacher interrupted his private concert and L turned his head to face the elderly man standing before the chalkboard at the front of the room, black, unblinking eyes showing nothingness; not a single emotion passed across L's face.

"Je fais de excuses, Monsieur. Il ne se produira pas encore," he replied, taking his fingernail away from his mouth as he spoke, a monotone lacing his voice, not even once betraying the fact that L was cursing the educational system for pressuring him into this so-called "much needed" course. But he needed to attend this one, just like all of the others, in order to graduate onto the next level of schooling.

"Merci" was all that was said to him before the nightmarish lecture was sprung back to life, writing implements gliding back to their respective notebooks, though it was all in vain. Nothing this man was spewing into the air could be found in the textbooks, and at the rate he spoke, the French was more like gibberish.

L scratched at his knee impatiently, wishing that he could sit in his regular position. His thought process was growing a bit fuzzy due to sitting "normally" for too long, though he didn't see how his way was peculiar. He was able to comprehend topics that were thrown at him much clearer; forty percent better, if he was calculating correctly, and he usually was. He wiggled his bare toes within the confines of his trainers, hating that just as much as he despised everything about the dreadful school he was forced to attend.

The analog clock that hung above the door ticked away, pushing the teenager back to his trancelike concert, the rain and bells hitting an unusually loud note while the ticking of the metronome helped keep the rhythm. The concerto was mesmerizing, the conductor being God, and he led the angels in a masterful performance that could only be achieved once in a millennia. Why couldn't anyone else hear this? No one else in this entire establishment paid any mind to the simplicity of the rain and the bells and the _tick_-_tick_-_tick_ of the clock.

L mentally grimaced at how pitiful these human beings were, wasting their lives away learning a language that only a handful would ever find useful while other innocents died at the hands of crime he could have been stopping at that moment. He could have been hiding behind synthetic voices on telephones and computer monitors if he hadn't been metaphorically shackled to his school desk. Numerous cases would have been solved by now; a number of horrible changes in people's lives could have been avoided if those handcuffs of his had just been a little loser.

If only those indiscernible handcuffs could be unlocked. He needed a key.

Said key appeared in the form of the last bell punctuating the man at the front of the room's lecture. The students piled out of the room as a large pack, eager to get back home and exhilarated as the nearing break filled their heads, equivalent to the fantasies of sugar plums and hot chocolate. L strayed along in the back, snapping his backpack closed and slinging it on a shoulder as his bangs annoyingly fell before his eyes. He pushed the hair away and slumped out the door, carefully and skillfully avoiding anyone who may have stumbled along into his path.

The double doors leading out of the building came as a sign of hope, despite the horrible downpour outside. L liked the rain, to put it bluntly: it was much more soothing than the sun, and the bells that chased after him like the Bubonic Plague would to the people of the Middle Ages clanged louder when accompanied by the _pitter-patter_ of the droplets. He welcomed the cold water with metaphorical open arms, lifting his head up slightly as he began walking down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. His uniform was drenched from inside-out, though he paid it absolutely no mind.

To be wet meant that he was free from that damned prison cell that was referred to as a classroom.

The walk was not that far: merely a couple of streets away from his school. The smaller building that was his destination had a much older look, with its ivy-covered bricks and ancient playground that littered the front yard. A large group stood underneath a concrete canopy of sorts, shuffling their tiny feet awkwardly as they waited for their guardians to pick them up, not wanting to get soaked more than they needed to be. A few, however, seemed to not mind, their little bodies having been pent up – not unlike L himself had been – inside the schoolhouse all day; they needed to burn off the energy.

The teenager scanned the yard as he opened and closed the iron gate built into the fence swiftly. The three he was searching for were sat in a corner of the playground; one was slumped against a tree trunk, a toy airplane in his hand, while the other two were perched in the branches. The blonde child hung upside down, arms swinging limply as his green eyes caught sight of L and grinned. The redhead beside him looked up from his Game Boy at the sound of the blonde swinging up and leaping down from the branch cleanly before following suit.

"Hey L!" beamed the blonde-haired boy, sticking his spindly hands into his uniform jacket's pockets.

"Hello Mello," L nodded, ruffling the boy's hair before turning towards the redhead, whose attention had been brought back to his Pokémon game. "Matt," he said and the lad's goggles-wearing face glanced upwards with a bright smile, but turned away to his video game once more. L then walked over to the tree trunk where the smallest, youngest boy was.

His short white hair curled at the ends and his dark eyes stared emotionlessly at him, though a glimmer of what L could only describe as pure, unadulterated light flashed through his gaze for a moment. The boy twirled a lock of his hair around his index finger while the blue and red toy fell to his side.

"Hello Near," said L, "Did you have a nice day?"

Near only nodded, straightening a bit as L began walking away and followed, Mello and Matt at his sides. They strolled out of the yard and made their way down the sidewalk, the older of the children – Matt and Mello – talking energetically while Near grabbed a hold of L's hand. The tight grip made the teenager smile a bit, though he only stared ahead of him instead of actually acknowledging it; he only squeezed back reassuringly.

"So how was school today, L?" asked Mello conversationally, looking up at the raven-haired boy in question, smiling.

"It was the same as usual, Mello."

"Horrible?"

"Yes, that's about correct." L swept a bit of wet bangs from his face, scratching at the stray pieces that remained plastered to his forehead. "But I must continue going; Mr. Wammy says that a good detective must always finish his mandatory schooling."

Wammy actually had _not_ said that. In those words, at least, but L knew that if he recited what had actually been pointed out to him, the smaller ones would probably not be able to comprehend it. He was their substitute "brother" after all, and so he had to act like one, despite how much he questioned exactly _why_ the boys had taken a liking to him so quickly, after all the others had passed him off as a statue set atop a pedestal.

L wasn't supposed to be anything more than that, according to them. So then, why would these three attach themselves to him; glue themselves to him and never let go?

"Near was getting bullied again, L," Matt spoke up suddenly. His game was away, stowed safely in his pocket in fear of getting rain inside the machine. "But me and Mello took care of 'em. They were huge, though, and after a while, the teachers took over."

"Were they punished?" L inquired, all-too-used to the frequent scuffles that the two got in with Near's bullies to lecture them.

"Suspended and a call home, I think," answered Mello, taking out a bar of chocolate from a pant pocket and unwrapping it from the foil as he spoke. "We just got some lines to do."

"When, exactly?"

"We already did them. We lost our break and after we were done, we just did our homework." Mello smiled, the candy staining the corners of his lips as he did so. "Now we've got the whole weekend to ourselves!"

L ruffled the blonde's head. "That's all well and nice, but please, you two, try and stay away from fights a little more. You may get suspended, as well, next time."

"Maybe they shouldn't pick on Near then!" said Matt, "Besides, that's our job!" Matt poked the younger boy in the shoulder, chuckling.

Another squeeze from the silver-haired one and L shook his head. "I would rather you don't stoop to their level."

"Aw, we're just kidding, L!"

"Yeah, us Wammy Kids stick together!"

And as if on cue, a large Gothic-styled appeared over a hill, set apart from the bustling town. An iron-wrought gate blocked them from entry, intricate designs swirled on the metal, carved years and years previously. L, however, dug through a pocket with his free hand, and a moment later withdrew it with a single skeleton key hanging from in between his thumb and index fingers. Quickly, he unlocked the slightly rusted padlock and opened the gate; he allowed the other three go into the yard before swinging it closed as he followed after them, the lock clicking back shut automatically.

Various toys were strewn across the freshly-mowed grass. Big-wheeled bikes and basketballs, jumping rope and a Four Square ball merely hit the tip of the iceberg as L gazed at the familiar scene. Mello and Matt were rushing up the long pathway, Near straying behind. His legs wobbled as he tried to stay standing; his toy airplane hung at the boy's side and L cocked his head sadly. The small child had always found it difficult to stand up. The illness that had struck him early in his life had taken the luxury of being a kid and running around away from him.

And so it was with an upset pity in his heart that L speedily walked up to the boy and scooped him up in his arms. Setting Near on his shoulders while the boy grinned, L walked on, the sign next to the front door getting closer and closer:

_Quillish Wammy's Orphanage for Gifted Children._

"Are you going to stay here forever, L?" whispered Near suddenly.

L stopped for a second, the four-year-old's feet shifting against his collarbone in anxiety for the answer to the question. When L started walking once more, he spoke.

"I will stay for as long as I need to, Near. But don't worry: I will always be there when you need me, even if you do not know it."


End file.
